


A Prayer For Which No Words Exist

by kinksock22



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs in a Car, Bottom Jared Padalecki, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Jensen and Jared roleplay as Sam and Dean, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Supernatural (TV), RPF, Rimming, Roleplay, Schmoop, Sex on a Car, and sort of bottom Sam, so sort of wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinksock22/pseuds/kinksock22
Summary: Jensen’s been saying it for years so really, Jared shouldn’t be surprised but he still kind of is.In which Jensen gets the Impala afterSupernaturalends and he and Jared have a bit of fun.





	A Prayer For Which No Words Exist

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about due to some late-night discussions about the J's role-playing as Sam and Dean with my new, favorite cheerleader. You know who you are so I'm not gonna call you out here. But I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Un-beta'd, all mistakes are my own. Title from the poem _You are Jeff_ by Richard Siken

Jensen’s been saying it for _years_ so really, Jared _shouldn’t_ be surprised but he still kind of is. Honestly, he should know by now that Jensen rarely says things he doesn’t mean. Even still, when he hears that deep, familiar rumble coming from the driveway he truly isn’t prepared for it. Or all the emotions that swamp him. He can’t help it really. It’s only been a few weeks since they wrapped on the series finale and his emotions are still all over the place and way too close to the surface.  
  
Instead of dwelling and letting himself once again get caught up in his own head, he goes outside, unable to stop himself from smiling when he finds exactly what he expected. Although, as he crosses the lawn and looks closer, he realizes that it’s not quite _exactly_ what he was expecting. It’s the Impala alright but it’s not Jensen in the driver’s seat. Instead he locks eyes with Dean fucking Winchester. It’s a subtle difference but after fifteen years it’s a difference that he can easily pick up on. His steps falter slightly, his stomach swooping. He isn’t _entirely_ sure what’s going on but if it’s what he _thinks_ it is, it’s been _years_ since they’ve done this.  
  
“Move your ass ‘fore I leave it behind, little brother,” Jensen… No _Dean_ , grumbles through the open window and Jared’s stomach swoops again, his heart already beating a bit faster as he hurries the rest of the way across the yard, his hands shaking a little as he opens the passenger’s side door, the familiar creek sending a confusing mix of emotions through him. He pushes everything else aside and focuses solely on Dean, letting himself easily slip into Sam’s familiar skin – there are days that he thinks he knows Sam better than he knows Jared; but now is _certainly_ not the time to think about that. Dean flashes him a wink and a smirk as he backs out of the driveway. “You’re staring,” he points out after a few moments.  
  
Jared inhales deeply, shifts his shoulders, and lets Sam take over. “Just… Surprised me is all. I, uh, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”  
  
Those emerald-green eyes snap to him and for a moment it’s Jensen looking back at him instead of Dean. “Is that a good thing or…” he trails off, glancing quickly at the mostly-empty street then back to him.  
  
Jared and Sam are in complete agreement when he smiles, replies softly, “It’s a really good thing.”  
  
Dean smirks at him again and slides his right arm along the back of the bench seat, his fingers slipping into the back of Sam’s hair, tips brushing the nape of his neck. It sends a shiver down Sam’s spine, arousal instantly surging through his entire body, pooling hot and thick in his stomach, his cock twitching, hardening, the loose basketball shorts he’s wearing not doing a damn thing to hide it. Not that he’d really want to. Especially not when he notices Dean glancing at him again out of the corner of his eye, a smirk of his own curling up his lips when he sees Dean’s hips flex a bit, can easily see the outline of his half-hard length trapped in his jeans.  
  
Sam reaches down and palms himself, mostly to tease Dean but also in a vain attempt to calm himself down a bit. They’ve only been on the road around five minutes or so and he’s already feeling like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. He glances around, his brow furrowing a bit, not immediately recognizing where they are. There’s nothing around them but empty fields as far as he can see.  
  
“Where are we?” he asks, a little shocked at the low, raspy tone of his own voice.  
  
Dean clears his throat, glances quickly at him, down to his lap, then back to the road. “Middle’a Nowhere, Texas,” Dean murmurs. He licks his lips, teeth scraping the bottom one, his fingers flexing in Sam’s hair, tugging just barely on the messy, sweat-damp strands. “Just you, me, m’baby and the open road.”  
  
Sam hums and leans his head back a bit, his eyes fluttering closed, lips parting on a silent moan when Dean tightens his fingers in his hair again. He reopens his eyes, stares absently, unseeing, out the window. When five more minutes pass without any sign of another car or anything aside from empty fields, Sam scoots across the bench seat, one hand sliding up the inside of Dean’s thigh, palms length of Dean’s cock – even through the thick denim of his jeans he can feel how hard and hot Dean is and it makes his own cock jerk, pre-come oozing from the tip. He leans in, buries his face in the curve of Dean’s neck, lips brushing against his steadily quickening pulse. Dean flexes his hips again, the fingers still buried in Sam’s hair tightening even more.  
  
“Fuck, Sam,” Dean groans.  
  
Sam nuzzles under Dean’s jaw, fingers rubbing at his brother’s straining length. “We headin’ somewhere specific?” Sam asks quietly, runs the tip of his nose around the shell of Dean’s ear, nips at the lobe. Dean merely grunts an affirmative, tugging on Sam’s hair enough to make him moan, tiny pinpricks of pleasured-pain sending a fresh jolt of arousal through his entire body. “’bout how much longer ‘til we get there?”  
  
“Maybe ten minutes,” Dean rasps, tone gravel-rough yet silky-smooth. It shoots right to Sam’s head and gut like good whiskey.  
  
“Can’t wait,” Sam breathes, carefully kneading Dean’s cock, his own straining length jerking when he feels the wet spot that has already leaked through his jeans.  
  
“Sammy, wha-” Dean cuts himself off with a deep groan when Sam scoots back just enough so that he can bend down, lust-clumsy fingers struggling for a few seconds with the button and zipper of his brother’s jeans before getting them open.  
  
“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Sam grits out when he sees that Dean isn’t wearing any underwear. He slides down a bit more, bent legs against the floorboard, tucked up under the dash, body twisted at the waist, one hand reaching into his brother’s jeans and pulling out of rock-hard cock, holding him steady as he drags his tongue over the head, chasing the familiar taste of pre-come. He fleetingly thinks that he’s grateful that he’s so damn flexible but then Dean’s fingers tug at his hair again, fresh pre-come oozing from the slit and all other thought flies right out of his head. He buries his face in the warm crease of Dean’s thigh, inhales deeply, exhales around a moan at the scent of Dean – sweat, leather, gun oil, _home_. “ _Dean_ ,” he whispers, his eyes squeezing closed as he turns his head, mouthing wetly at the thick shaft of Dean’s cock.  
  
“Fuck, baby,” Dean half-growls, half-groans, hips shifting, thick thigh muscle flexing.  
  
Sam hums and licks a thick, wet stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock, tongue swirling around the head, tip digging into the slit to chase the taste of his brother – a taste he’s been addicted to from the very first time all those years ago. He does it again just to hear the deep moan that rumbles in Dean’s chest – the same sound he makes every time – then slides his lips over the head, taking him in as deep as possible right from the start. They learned early on that Sam was basically born without a gag reflex, a fact that Sam uses to his benefit whenever possible. He swallows around the thick head of Dean’s cock when it hits the back of his throat, drops his hand and shoves it beneath the waistband of his shorts and boxer briefs, palming his own cock, fingers teasing the sticky-wet tip. He’s already leaking like a busted pipe, the inside of his underwear a mess. He moans around his brother’s length, hollowing his cheeks as he pulls up, tongue teasing the bundle of nerves beneath the ridge, then instantly drops down again, taking Dean a little further, head slipping into his throat.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean grits out, hips shifting and thighs flexing again, obviously wanting to thrust, to fuck Sam’s mouth but unable to while he’s driving.  
  
Sam sets a steady, even rhythm, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard as he pulls up, swallowing thickly as he takes Dean in as deep as possible. He makes himself choke every now and then, gagging and gasping, reflexive tears leaking down his cheeks. Dean groans and curses every time, fingers tugging on Sam’s hair even as he cradles the back of Sam’s head to protect him from hitting the steering wheel. He keeps his hand in his shorts, fingers curled loosely around his own cock, mostly just teasing himself, Dean’s straining length twitching, leaking every time Sam moans. He knows damn-well he could easily get them both off just like this but he’s curious to see what Dean has planned – he knows his brother, knows without a doubt that Dean definitely has _something_ planned – as well as the fact that, while what he’s doing feels good, he wants _more_.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean rasps, tugging on his hair again, in warning this time. Sam pulls away after one last swirl of his tongue but stays where he is. Dean glances down at him, untangling his fingers in order to push the sweat-damp mess of Sam’s hair away from his face. “We’re here.” It’s only then that Sam realizes that they’re no longer moving. He blinks owlishly at Dean, his hand still loosely stroking his own cock. Dean glances down, licks his lips, teeth scraping the bottom one – he’s not sure what it is about that move but it drives him fucking _crazy_ , every damn time. “C’mere,” Dean murmurs, grabbing the back of Sam’s neck and squeezing, gently urging him up.  
  
Sam unfolds himself and crawls back into the seat, presses as close to Dean’s side as possible. Dean nudges him a bit and Sam scoots back, giving Dean room to move over, settling in the middle of the bench seat. Sam instantly throws one leg across Dean’s, settles in his lap, despite the fact that they’re both too tall, too big – the Impala is an extremely roomy car but they’re two _big_ guys and they haven’t really fit well inside her like this in a long damn time. Even still, Dean grabs his hips, tilts his head back, their gazes locking for a split-second before Sam dips down, their lips crashing together. The kiss is rough, heated, almost desperate right from the start, both of them moaning, hips rocking together, hands shoving under clothes to get to bare skin.  
  
Sam has no idea how long they’ve been kissing but he needs more, his whole body trembling with need. “Fuck me,” he breathes into the kiss, nipping at Dean’s bottom lip hard enough to make his brother grunt then instantly pushing to deepen the kiss again.  
  
“Can’t like this,” Dean pants, not breaking the kiss either.  
  
“Need you inside me, Dean. _Now_.”  
  
Dean sinks both hands into Sam’s hair, uses the hold to keep him still when Dean finally pulls away from the kiss. Sam still tries to chase after his kiss-bruised lips, mewling when all he ends up doing is causing Dean to pull his hair. “I know, baby boy,” Dean murmurs, lust-dark, stormy-green eyes staring deep into his own.  
  
Sam whimpers, a shiver running down his spine. He knows it’s not right, the _dirty-bad-wrong_ of it all making it so much hotter, the reminder that Dean is his brother just making him want it even more. Dean tightens his arms around Sam, holds him close to his strong, broad chest. “ _Dean,_ ” he breathes, short, blunt nails digging into Dean’s back.  
  
“Give you want you want, baby,” Dean goes on, fingers curling into fists in his hair, tugging his head down, their lips _just barely_ brushing together, “but you gotta lemme up first.” Sam whines, wiggles closer. He doesn’t want to move. There’s little he enjoys more than riding Dean, writhing in his lap while those strong hands leave bruises on his hips that last for days. “Gonna bend you over the hood,” Dean damn-near purrs, lips catching and dragging against Sam’s with every word, “spread you open, eat you out, all wet and messy, then fuck you ‘til you can’t walk, make you come on just my cock.” Sam – and his cock – very much approves of this plan. He moans harshly, drops his head, face buried in the curve of Dean’s neck. Dean lets out the hottest, filthiest chuckle, right against Sam’s ear – which just makes Sam moan again, another shiver running down his spine. He bites the crook of Dean’s shoulder. Dean pulls on his hair, _hard_ , in response. Sam whimpers. “Like the sound’a that, little brother?” Dean whispers, lips ghosting over Sam’s ear and Sam’s hips jerk, fresh pre-come oozing from the slit.  
  
“Please,” Sam breathes, clawing at Dean’s back, biting and sucking at Dean’s neck, over his thundering pulse. And because Sam can play dirty too and knows how much it gets to Dean, same as it does him, he adds, “Big brother.”  
  
Dean growls, drops his hands to Sam’s ass, squeezes his cheeks, pulling him open, fingers teasing over his hole through his shorts and underwear. “Out, Sam. _Now_.”  
  
Sam nearly elbows Dean in the face and almost hits his own head in his haste to crawl out of Dean’s lap, pretty much falling out the door once he opens it.  
  
In the few seconds it takes Dean to follow, Sam glances absently at his surroundings. It looks vaguely familiar and he’s positive he should know where they are but he’s lost all higher brain function, can’t think of anything aside from Dean and the promise in that whiskey-rough voice, the positively _filthy_ images running through his mind, easily able to picture everything Dean plans to do to him. Really, it doesn’t matter where they are, he trusts Dean more than anyone or anything, knows he wouldn’t do anything to risk them getting caught. He just barely notices the fact that they’re pretty well hidden behind a decent-sized corpse of trees right before he feels Dean’s hands curl around his hips, broad chest pressing against his back, just the very tips of his fingers tucking beneath the waistband of his shorts as he nudges Sam, walking him toward the front of the car.  
  
Sam turns around, ass resting against the hood, his arms wrapping around Dean’s shoulders, his legs spread wide enough to completely negate their height difference, chests pressed together as Dean steps forward, into the open splay of his thighs, his hands pushing under the back of Sam’s t-shirt as their lips slide together. Sam opens easily when Dean pushes to deepen the kiss, moaning low in his throat as their tongues tangle together at the same time that Dean rocks his hips forward, still open jeans sitting dangerously low on his lean hips, his cock rubbing against Sam’s through his shorts and underwear. Even the light material feels too thick and heavy against Sam’s straining length and he can’t stop himself from whining against Dean’s lips, wanting nothing between them but his body not obeying the commands from his brain.  
  
Dean gets it though. Sam can feel him smirk into the kiss as he pulls his hands from under Sam’s shirt and once again tucks his fingers beneath both waistbands, easily pushing both his shorts and boxer briefs down. They get stuck around his thighs where his legs are still spread but it doesn’t really matter at the moment, their bare cocks rubbing together, the slide eased by sweat and pre-come. Sam finally gets his body to cooperate long enough for him to drop one arm, shoving his hand between them, absently thinking briefly that he’s glad he’s got long fingers when he wraps them around both their cocks – even with how big his hands are he can’t wrap his fingers around them completely but it’s just enough – groaning into the kiss as he rubs his palm over both tips, smearing their combined pre-come down their shafts as he loosely strokes them.  
  
Dean nips at him bottom lip as he ends the kiss, presses their foreheads together as he looks down between their bodies. “Fuck, baby, look at us. So fuckin’ hot.” Sam opens his eyes, looks down as well, his cock jerking against Dean’s at the sight. It’s nothing that he hasn’t seen before but it’s still undeniably, ridiculously arousing. He moans, fingers flexing. Dean slides one hand into the back of his hair, tilts his head slightly, tips of their noses rubbing together. “Turn around for me, Sammy,” he murmurs. “Wanna taste you.”  
  
Sam shivers and forces himself to let go, slamming their lips together in a quick, dirty kiss before doing as his brother asked. Before he can bend over, Dean pulls at the hem of his t-shirt, pulls it off and drops it onto the hood in front of him. Sam glances back over his shoulder with a smile, sighing softly when Dean smiles in return, kisses the back of his shoulder. Dean presses a hand between his shoulder blades, urging Sam to bend over even though it really isn’t necessary. He can feel the warmth of the metal, even through his t-shirt, but it barely registers, all his attention focused on Dean as his brother pushes his shorts and underwear down the rest of the way, taps Sam’s ankle to get him to lift his foot, leaving the material bunched around the other ankle. Sam closes his eyes, turns his head so that his cheek is resting against the hood, spreads his legs wide, back arching as he tilts his hips back and up. Dean’s hands slide up the outside of his thighs to his hips then over the curve of his ass. Dean’s fingers tighten, pulls open his cheeks, wickedly wonderful tongue dragging from the back of his balls up to the dip of his spine. Sam moans, shifts his legs open just a bit more, his eyes fluttering closed, hands curling into useless fists against the hood as Dean repeats the same move once, twice, then digs his fingers harder into the globes of Sam’s ass, pulls him open even more, licks directly over his hole.  
  
Sam gasps, his cock jerking as he pushes back. Dean circles Sam’s rim a few times then pushes in a bit, the tip of his tongue slipping just barely inside Sam. A harsh moan rumbles in Sam’s chest, his balls throbbing, _aching_ already with the need to come. He ignores it of course, the desperation just adding to the pleasure. Dean shifts his hold a bit, thumbs on either side of Sam’s rim, pulling slightly, the stretch making Sam mewl, hips twitching. He unclenches his fists, hands spread wide open against the sleek black, sun-warm metal, his back arching slightly, pushing back against Dean again. His brother pushes in closer, the rough stubble along his jaw and cheeks rubbing against the sensitive skin of Sam’s ass and it makes him squirm a little. “Taste so fuckin’ good, baby boy,” Dean rasps, thumbs tugging him open a little more, tongue dipping deeper inside. He moans, the sound vibrating through Sam’s whole body.  
  
“More, please, De,” Sam begs around a barely choked-off, broken moan.  
  
Dean pulls back, nips at the meat of Sam’s ass cheek. “Reach back and hold yourself open, baby.”  
  
The deep rasp along with a slight bit steel in his brother’s voice, the command, just the _idea_ of putting himself on display like that, his own hands holding himself open for whatever Dean wants to do to him, all of it makes Sam shiver, appeals greatly to the slightly submissive part of himself that only Dean knows how to tap into perfectly. Dean gently swats his ass and Sam keens, his whole body jerking. If he wasn’t so fixated on what Dean already stated he was going to do, Sam would arch his back deeper, stick his ass up as high as possible and beg Dean to keep going, spank him until he’s red and raw then fuck him stupid. A perfect idea for next time.  
  
Sam shifts his weight fully to his chest, reaches back – thankful for his long arms – and grabs both cheeks of his own ass, Dean’s appreciative groan when he pulls himself open sending a dirty little thrill down his spine. “Fuck, so pretty, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, his hands sliding up the back of Sam’s thighs as he leans in again, picks right back up where he left off.  
  
Sam digs his fingers into his own flesh, pulls himself open even more. Dean hums – once again the sound vibrates through Sam, his cock jerking almost hard enough to hurt – and slides two fingers into Sam, the spit-tacky slide almost too dry but it just manages to turn him on even more, adds to the almost overwhelming pleasure. He’s always had a bit of a pain kink and he’s grateful that Dean has always been willing to indulge him. Dean pushes his fingers in deep, tongue dipping inside as well, tips rubbing along his inner walls, unerringly finding his prostate immediately – he’s pretty sure Dean knows his body better than Sam knows it himself by this point – pressing against the sensitive gland and rubbing as he reaches between Sam’s legs with his other hand, teasing his balls briefly before sliding his palm along the underside of Sam’s diamond-hard length. Sam moans, turns his head, his forehead pressing against the hood.  
  
“Damn, baby. So freakin’ hard for me, so wet.”  
  
“D-dean,” Sam stammers in warning. He usually has pretty good self-control but Dean is relentlessly slamming every button Sam has, using every trick he’s learned over the years on just how to take Sam apart so thoroughly, that there’s no way in hell he can hold out if Dean is touching his cock. Hell, he was barely holding out even _before_ Dean touched his cock.  
  
Dean hums, rubs his thumb over the tip then pulls away. Sam can hear the obscenely wet slurp as Dean obviously sucks his thumb into his mouth and he squeezes his eyes closed, fingers tightening even more, his whole body trembling. “Mmm, taste so good, little brother.” Sam can’t stop the whimper that escapes his parted lips.  
  
“De, please,” he whispers, not even sure if Dean can hear him.  
  
Either he did hear or just decides to give Sam a bit of a break because he returns his full focus to working Sam open. He keeps his word, eating Sam out wet and messy as he spends a few long minutes fucking two fingers into him, rubbing over his sweet spot every other thrust. When Sam inevitably begs for more he’s surprised as hell when, instead of adding a third finger, Dean pulls away and stands up. He tries to glance back at his brother but he can’t with the way he’s still holding himself open. But he also can’t get his hands to work long enough to let go either. Dean’s black t-shirt lands on the hood next to Sam’s face then he hears the familiar _snick_ of a lube bottle being opened. He shivers when Dean pours the slightly chilly liquid down the crack of his ass. Before he can complain though, Dean’s fingers are there, pushing the slick into him. Then Dean’s fingers are gone and he leans over, kisses the back of Sam’s shoulder, the nape of his neck.  
  
“You can let go now, baby.”  
  
Like his body was waiting for Dean’s permission, he finally manages to unclench his fingers. His bad shoulder aches a little but he barely registers it as he leans his weight on his forearms, turns to look at Dean over his shoulder, watches silently as he pushes his jeans down to mid-thigh then pours more lube into his hand, slicks his cock, lines the tip up with Sam’s hole. Dean looks up, their gazes locking as he steadily pushes forward. Sam forces his eyes to stay open but it isn’t easy. The burning stretch and the fullness that he enjoys so much is more pronounced than it’s been in a while but he loves the slight ache, the bite of pain just making him harder. He rarely gets Dean to rush the prep like this – even when Sam begs and assures him that he _wants_ it to hurt a little – and has _never_ gotten him to skip it altogether, no matter the circumstances – even if they had just fucked a few hours before, Dean always insists on prepping him again. Maybe one day.  
  
Once he’s buried to the hilt he stops, fingers digging into Sam’s hips hard enough to no doubt leave finger-shaped bruises behind. Sam lets out a shuddering breath, his body at once wound up so tight he’s afraid he’ll shatter at the slightest touch but also so relaxed, so completely at ease, for the first time in weeks. He forcefully pushes _that_ thought away, moaning softly when Dean drapes himself over his back, hips still completely still, brushes a kiss to the back of Sam’s shoulder. Sam turns a bit more, smiling softly when Dean lets go of one hip, reaches up and pushes the sweat-damp mess of Sam’s hair away from the side of his face, fingers absently carding through the strands. “Kiss me,” Sam half-asks, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice. Dean complies of course, knowing that Sam couldn’t care less where his lips and tongue just were. He moans into the kiss when Dean deepens it, chasing his own taste on Dean’s tongue. Even though Sam doesn’t need to say it and Dean doesn’t need to hear it, Sam whispers against Dean’s lips, “Move, please, Dean?”  
  
Dean doesn’t hesitate. He slides one arm around Sam’s waist, moves his other hand to brace against the hood, their bodies still pressed together as he pulls back, almost all the way out, then snaps his hips forward, automatically falling into a steady, even rhythm. Sam rocks back against every thrust as best as he can, leans his head back onto Dean’s shoulder, mewling softly when Dean dips down, biting and sucking at the arched column of Sam’s throat, nuzzling under his jaw. “Fuck, baby,” Dean murmurs against his ear, teeth scraping the lobe. Sam squeezes his eyes closed, lips parting on a breathless moan. “Feel so good.” He tightens his arm around Sam, fingers digging into his hip. “Always so fuckin’ good.”  
  
He can’t do much aside from moan hoarsely in agreement. His arms are starting to shake so he drops down, chest pressed against the hood. It changes the angle just barely and he gasps, drops his forehead against the hood as well when Dean’s next thrust nails his prostate perfectly. Dean slows down a bit, leans forward more, kisses the side of his head. “Ya okay, sweetheart?” he asks softly.  
  
Jared blinks his eyes open and glances back over his shoulder, smiling up at Jensen. “Arms were gettin’ tired,” he explains quietly.  
  
Jensen brushes a kiss to the corner of his lips then, to Jared’s surprise – and vocal disappointment; Jensen, the jerk, merely smirks when he whines in protest – he pulls away, pulls _out_. “Here, c’mon, turn around,” Jensen urges, squeezing Jared’s hip.  
  
Jared’s brow furrows in confusion but he does as Jensen asked. He gasps when Jensen grabs his hips and _lifts_ him a bit off the ground, leaving him sitting on the hood. Jensen pushes back between Jared’s spread legs, tugs a little on Jared’s hips to get him where he wants him, then sinks right back into him. Jared damn-near chokes on a broken moan, automatically wraps his arms around Jensen’s shoulders, his head falling back, his eyes squeezing closed again. Jensen kisses along his throat up to his ear, his warm, moist breath making Jared shiver. “You wanna keep goin’?”  
  
A part of Jared wants to say no, wants to drop the role-play and finish as themselves, no matter how fun and hot all this has been. But then there’s the part of him – admittedly the larger part – that does want to keep going, that wants to let Sam and Dean have this – despite how weird that thought is; they’ve lived with these characters so long that at times it truly does feel like they’re real, separate people. Either way, he knows Jensen will be on-board, will do whatever he wants to do.  
  
Inhaling deeply, Jared lets Sam take over again. He tightens his arms around his brother’s strong, broad shoulders, arches his neck further in a silent request for more. “Make me come, please, Dean?” he breathes, fingers absently playing with the short hair at the nape of Dean’s neck.  
  
Dean slides his arms around Sam’s waist, pulls him a bit closer, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he instantly falls right back into the same pace and rhythm. Sam spreads his legs wider – enough to feel a bit of strain along the inside of his thighs – and clings to Dean, forcefully lifting his head, parted lips brushing against Dean’s temple. “More,” he begs, barely audible over the groan of the shocks.  
  
Dean growls and picks up the pace, fucking Sam hard and fast, pushing in deep then pulling almost all the way out, every thrust hitting his sweet spot. Dean looks up at him, their gazes locking. He could easily drown in those lust-dark, stormy-green eyes. “Y’close, baby boy?” Dean pants. Sam lets out a whimpery-mewl in response. Dean slides his arms up Sam’s back, strong fingers curling over the tops of his shoulders, somehow managing to pick up a bit more strength and speed. “C’mon, do it. Come for me, little brother.”  
  
A few handfuls of thrusts is all it takes. Sam’s eyes slam closed as he tosses his head back, clawing at Dean’s shoulders as he cries out, his untouched cock twitching, pulsing, release streaking his stomach. Dean loses the rhythm, is reduced to erratic, mindless thrusts, obviously trying to help work Sam through his orgasm even as he chases after his own. “Come, big brother,” Sam manages to rasp. He mewls weakly when Dean groans and slams forward just a few more times, pushes in as deep as possible, teeth digging hard into the curve of Sam’s shoulder. Through the haze of pleasure and the shivery aftershocks, Sam can feel Dean’s cock jerk inside him as he follows Sam over the edge.  
  
They cling to each other until their hearts stop pounding so hard, their ragged, panting breaths evening out, long after Dean’s softened length slips from Sam’s body. He hums softly, turns his head a bit, nuzzles Dean’s temple. As much as he doesn’t want to, he still says quietly, “We should move.”  
  
When he opens his eyes again it’s to find Jensen looking back at him. “C’mon, sweetheart,” Jensen urges softly as he helps Jared down. Jared smiles when Jensen reaches down and pulls his shorts and underwear back up then quickly fixes his own jeans. Jared grabs his own t-shirt but doesn’t bother putting it back on – it’s entirely too warm and he’s sweating entirely too much. Jensen quickly wipes off the hood with his shirt then cleans off Jared’s stomach as best as he can. Before Jared can move away, fully planning on getting back into the passenger’s side so they can head back home, Jensen grabs his hand, laces their fingers together and leads him toward the back. “Get in,” he murmurs, jerking his chin once he opens the back door.  
  
Jared quirks an eyebrow but climbs into the back. Jensen tosses his shirt onto the floorboard then gets in as well, automatically pulling Jared into his arms despite how warm it is and how sweaty they are. Jared smiles and closes his eyes, rests his head on Jensen’s shoulder, barely resisting the urge to purr with happiness when Jensen’s fingers inevitably wind up carding through his hair. He has no idea how long they sit there, doesn’t even bother trying to keep track. He’s curious why Jensen did all this but at the moment he’s too content to ask – if he wants to be honest, he can pretty much guess why, he’s not been doing all that great of a job hiding how badly he’s been handling things the past few weeks. They’ll talk about it later, he has no doubt. But for now he pushes it all aside and enjoys the moment.  
  
He may be sad that it’s all over but Jensen went out of his way to prove that, in some way, Sam and Dean will always be around. And reminded him, even though he definitely didn’t need it, that he took the best of _Supernatural_ with him when it ended. And he isn’t talking about the Impala, no matter how much he loves her. Their ‘little show that could’ gave him Jensen and in the end, that’s really all that matters.


End file.
